


The Seventh Day of Christmas

by Winklepicker



Series: 12 Days of Christmas [7]
Category: Dredd (2012), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Rambling, boxes aren't dirty, free form, soul mates, until you use the word way too many times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 07:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17638892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winklepicker/pseuds/Winklepicker
Summary: For the 12 Days of Christmas trope prompts -- soul mates





	The Seventh Day of Christmas

Everyone got their box. Some were plain, metal or bone. Wooden, rough, half-shaped things. Glittering silver caskets, covered in gemstones and stardust. Some were made of moonlight, or rainbows. Some of smoke and glass and laughter.

Station did not matter. The poorest child who lived only a day could have the finest gold filigree, or a little wicker pot. The highest emperor may have a box made of sparrow down, or a pure ruby chest. Everyone got their box, their safe to keep their heart. And one thing alone was certain, no one could open their own.

Once got, the box could be lost or stolen or destroyed just like anything else. And once lost, so too was the hope of discovering the keeper of their heart. The one being who could feed their soul and make them whole. The one with the key to their box.

Techie couldn’t remember his anymore. He was stolen away from it so long ago he could hardly remember his real name. Anseld it was. Mattie told him so. They had lain together under the stars, counting comets and sighs. 

“Anseld, baby. You whisper in your sleep. _My name is, my name is._ You do, my sweet fire star. My darling Ani.”

Techie peppered him with kisses, their own secret currency. He lay his head down on Matt’s wide soft chest and played with his fine gold hair.

Matt remembered his box so very well. A burnished copper, so bright it filled a room with light. A lost and lonely boy, he would curl around his box when the taunts and the shouting had beaten him down. He would tell it all his whispers. He would stroke it and sing.

He lost his too. It was taken and thrown and smashed to pieces by wicked beasts. But Matt doesn’t need his box to know. That his shining bright Techie is the love of his life, the keeper of his heart. His burnished copper boy, who he curls himself around. Who he tells all his whispers. The one he strokes and makes sing.

Techie never needed his box to know. That his beautiful Mattie, his great golden mountain who he climbs and makes shine, is his and his and his alone. No box can tell him that, it is what is and what will be.

But in his dreams, on the happiest days, he sees his box, all smooth and white. It is heavy and hefty in his hands, a marble base, a golden lid. In his dreams it opens and it contains the sun. He lets it fall up into the sky, and it sings to him as it flies.

Everyone got their box but Matt and Techie, they knew, knew for sure—no one needed it.

**Author's Note:**

> For the 12 Days of Christmas trope prompts -- soul mates


End file.
